


Captain Hook Has Two Hands

by Nicrenkel



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst but also Gallavich Happy Ending, Because...you know...pirates, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Gallavich Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Magic, Mentions of past abuse, Pirates, Rum, Swordfights, romantic smut, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 18:22:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12687717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicrenkel/pseuds/Nicrenkel
Summary: Captain Hook has two hands and no hook, fuck you very much. He's ready to take charge of the Jolly Roger and its crew, but he can't seem to shake the green-eyed enigma that permeates his thoughts.





	Captain Hook Has Two Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Farrahwall4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farrahwall4/gifts).



> For Farrah. Thank you for the prompt, and for being so supportive. I hope this version of Mickey is to your liking!

For Mickey Milkovich, his first week as the official Captain of the Jolly Roger had been a successful one. The equipment was in good shape, the morale of the crew was at an all-time high, and the rum was continuously flowing. The crew had celebrated Mickey’s inheritance of the rig with a night of revelry that still had yet to end.

He yawned and stretched upon the expanse of his king-sized bed, looking around the master suite, taking in the room full of luxury. Gold fixtures, gold trimming, red velvet, black leather, and treasure amassed from decades of Milkovich rule. He pressed his palms to his eyes, rubbing them awake, preparing himself to leave the warm comfort of his bed.

He rolled off of the mattress, adjusting himself through his knickers, silently admonishing himself for not taking a canoe out to the S.S. White Sparrow while he still had the chance. It had been far too long since he’d had any nighttime companionship.

The thunderous voice from his large entryway doors had him jumping in surprise. “Shall I shine your boots for you, Cap’n?” asked his first mate Smee, startling Mickey out of his private thoughts. “JESUS, where the fuck do you come from? You watching me in my sleep, now?”

“At your service, Cap’n!” the old man replied eagerly, hobbling over with a cleaning kit in one hand and a bottle of rum in the other. “No, Smee, that wasn’t a request. I was asking-“ He accepted the bottle extended towards him with a sigh as Smee dropped to the floor, preparing to scrub Mickey’s boots with enthusiasm. “Ah, fuck it” Mickey relented, as he took a long swig.

Smee was easily a foot shorter, if not more. Despite this, his old age, and his thick spectacles which made his eyes cartoonishly magnified, Smee was easily the most steadfast and driven man on board. Telling him no was like talking to a wall. Or his sister.

Smee ran up to him before he could open the door. “Don’t ya want your wig, Cap’n?” Mickey’s face dropped, and he inhaled slowly through his nose. “Every day this week, you’ve asked me if I want to wear that fuckin’ wig. Has my answer changed?” He looked down at the unwavering look of devotion on Smee’s face. “Throw that thing overboard and don’t ask me about it again.”

He flung open the doors to his chambers and swaggered out onto the open quarter deck, holding his belt buckle as he sauntered forward. He was a sight to behold; dressed in all black, the faded leather of his trench coat matching the worn shade of his shirt, billowing loose enough to showcase the smooth muscles of his chest down to his sternum; the belt circling his hips suspending a sword on his left side, and a gun on his right.

As he emerged, the full length of the main deck came into view. The rig was massive; The Jolly Roger could be seen from a great distance, its intimidating size emboldened by the grinning skull at the head of the ship. He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing the long, stray strands out of his eyes and adjusted the black bandana tied up loosely around his neck.

As he widened his stance, Smee cleared his throat and prepared his morning announcement. It was customary for all to stand and greet the Captain each morning.

He took a deep breath and puffed up his chest, bellowing for all on board to hear, “Listen all of ya! Who is the most brazen, bold, and brilliant buccaneer whoever sailed the briny blue?”

Mickey rolled his eyes and braced himself for the response he knew was coming. Every day, without fail, “CAPTAIN HOOK! CAPTAIN HOOK!” Never mind the fact that that’s not his fucking name…

“Who is the biggest, baddest barracuda, the cunning kingfish, the-“

“Alright, alright, they fucking get it.” Mickey stepped in front of his first mate and got right down to business. “Listen up! The plan for today is simple. We sail north, we close in on those assholes on the Gold Fleet, wait until night, and then take what’s ours.”

“They have something of ours on their ships?” a voice lifted from the crowd. “Did they rob us, Captain?”

“No, no, they- they have the shit we want, so we take it, and then it’s ours. Understood?”

“Why are we waiting until nighttime?” another crew member shouted, and then another, “How’ll we slit their throats if they’re already in bed?”

“Do we split into groups?”

“Everyone shut the fuck up for a minute, Jesus… we ain’t slitting throats unless we have to.” He knew that adjusting to his leadership after decades of rule under Terry Milkovich wasn’t going to be easy for them, but they were irritatingly inquisitive. “We’re just there for the gold. When they’re asleep, they’ll be out of our way. We walk on, walk off, end of story.”

“How do we know where the gold is, Captain?”

He squinted and raised his voice, “Are you new, here? No? Then shut the fuck up and pay attention.”

“But Hook, what if they-“

“DID I STUTTER?” he spit towards the crowd. “What’s with the stupid fucking questions?” Smee nodded furiously towards the gathering of underlings. “Don’t you piss ‘im off! He’s got enough goin’ on without you lot botherin’ ‘im!” He crossed his arms in a pout, and stood defiantly.

Mickey descended the staircase before anyone else had any bright ideas, and made his way towards the head of the ship. Men were patting his shoulders with every few steps, nearly knocking him over in the process. He really needed a smoke.

He found his brother nestled against the bow, already lost into his pipe, reclined and eyelids drooping. “Nice speech, bro.” Iggy giggled as Mickey snatched the pipe out of his hands. “Yeah, this whole shtick gets better every fuckin’ day.” Mickey frowned as he inhaled deeply, and sighed with the heavy resignation of a man who’d been running a ship for more than just a handful of days.

Like he’d signed up for this shit, anyway.

“They ain’t afraid to ask questions no more. They know you’re their Captain, now... ain’t got Dad around to be scared of.”

“For now” Mickey noted, looking over his shoulder. “Once he’s joined up with whatever ship he’s bringing into the fold, he’ll be back. Just gotta put up with this shit long enough to keep things moving while he’s gone.”

Iggy shrugged and pulled his hat over his eyes, reclining further into his high.

Accepting the task of finishing the pipe for himself, Mickey peered over the wall and into the horizon. While no one knew Terry’s whereabouts, Mickey was certain he was acquiring more ships for their overabundance of crew members, maybe even teaming up with equally feared pirates to gain dominance over larger areas of the sea. The amount of ships they could acquire with the help of skilled pirates like themselves was staggering; the looting was going to be lengthy and satisfying.

He wondered if his dad had sought out Blackbeard on the Queen Anne’s Revenge, or maybe even Black Bart, on the Royal Fortune. The latter was not only a renowned ship plunderer, holding the record for most ships successfully taken by a pirate, but he was also an extremely cold-hearted, lazy bastard. He and Terry would get along great.

 _Terry would never co-captain a ship_ … the voice in Mickey’s head persisted, lingering amongst his hopeful daydreaming and bringing him back to reality. … _He would kill them in a heartbeat for control of the entire fleet._

A commotion drew his attention towards the forecastle just off the main deck. A mixture of cheers, jeers, and shrill grunts could only mean one thing…

Sure enough, Mandy’s fist was connecting with the jaw of some poor shmuck flailing against the fore-mast. This ought to be good.

“Someone get this wench offa me!” Mickey arrived just in time to hear the man’s grave mistake with his own ears. “Captain Hook! There’s a woman on board! I signed a fuckin’ contract, said there’d be no women on board but the whores on the lower deck!”

Mickey chuckled and nudged his nose with his knuckle. “You new here?”

He looked around at the pale, fearful faces of the men around him. “Is she your wench, Captain? Forgive me, I-“ Mandy socked him in the gut, knocking the wind right out of him. “Forgive me, sir, I only boarded this week. I’ll never lay a hand on your whore again, I swear it!”

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked to Mandy, surprised she’d let this guy stand breathing this long. “He grabbed my ass, and when I told him to keep his fucking hands off me, he slapped me and told me to learn my place.”

Mickey howled with laughter. “Wow, man, this is just not your day…” He unsheathed his sword, holding it still at his side. He knew he wouldn’t need it, but he enjoyed the theatrics, as well as the look of impending doom on the bastard’s face.

“You treat my kid sister like that, you spit in my face.” The crowd around them grew larger, louder, rowdier. The men cheered Mickey on, looking for some blood sport.

The accused, for his part, was losing his mind with regret. “I’m sorry, Captain! I didn’t know! I beg your forgiveness, let us drink, and find the whores to use and wipe away this unfortunate incident, and we’ll pretend this whole thing never happened…”

“Yeah, not really, though” he smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Mandy curled her lip and grinned darkly at her prey. “I’m not a tool, so you don’t get to treat me like one. You want to know what _I_ do with useless tools?” She looked down at the man’s crotch, and then turned to her brother and asked, “Hey Mick, you remember what you told me when we were kids? About the first guy who ever slaps me?”

“I said I wanted you to take your shiv and jam it straight in his eye”, Mickey responded proudly.

“Well, I’ve got a better idea.” She pulled out her dagger, and ran a delicate finger along the waistline of his trousers. Looking him straight in the eye, she curved her fingertip around the fabric, and slowly pulled away from his abdomen.

Just as a sleazy grin spread across his face and he uttered the words, “I knew I was right about you, whore”, her dagger came down swiftly, disappearing tip first into his crotch.

His high pitched wailing could be heard throughout the ship. Mandy leaned in closely and whispered in his ear, “Men are are never right. That’s why women were invented to think for you assholes.”

She pushed the now castrated bully towards her brother, who wrenched him backwards by his hair, walked him casually over to the side of the ship, and effortlessly heaved him overboard. He brushed his hands together, looking pleased at the job well done.

Mandy giggled, “You’re the best Captain there ever was, jerkface.”

Mickey apprehended a bottle of rum from a passing drunk, and handed it to his sister with pride. “You’re just figuring that out now?”

The crowd of onlookers had reveled in the fracas so much, that they’d begun shoving, cheering, and waving their swords about. One especially inebriated crewman knocked into another, sending him and his brandished blade into the fore-mast, slicing right through the rope suspending the sail.

Mickey watched in horror as the sail fell to the ground, swaying the pole that had held it afloat. As it fell, men tripped left and right over it, swinging their arms in a futile attempt to catch their fall; their swords piercing through it repeatedly. Mickey’s nostrils flared as the scene unfolded, his eyebrows at full attention.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He faintly hears Mandy in the background, her directed shouts blurring together.

As the men continued to stumble and fall into the sail, the sounds of ripping echoed throughout the deck. Some men extended their hands out to help the others, only to get pulled in and twisted up in the sheets.

Mandy looked at her brother in concern and called out, “Smee, you’d better get up off your ass… get over here, Smee!”

The huffing, bumbling sidekick showed up just in time to hold Mickey back as he came to. “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?”

An “Oh, shit” arose from the crowd as the men suddenly noticed the calamity around them.

“Oh shit is right!” Mickey plowed past his first mate and dragged two men by their collars over and off of the sails. He threw them onto the floor and stood on their faces, boots pressing them flat onto the deck, as he bellowed out for all to hear. “I’m running a fucking business, here! Get these goddamn sails fixed and get this ship back in order or I’ll knock the teeth outta each and every one of you!”

“But Cap’n” an anxious Smee looked up imploringly, “We hafta drop anchor to fix ‘em. We gotta take this ship west ‘ta find a source ‘o stability!”

Aggressively rubbing his temples, he steamed, “And where the fuck would that be?”

“Tha’ would be the Island of Lost Boys, Cap’n!”

Mickey stepped down off of his crew and took a deep breath. He hunched over and screamed in fury, sending Smee speeding off to attain more weed and drink.

            *

         *

The sun was setting, and his father was shouting demands with a dark edge to his voice. Mickey huddled his tiny body behind barrels propped up next to the edge of the ship. He kept his head tucked down, terrified that _he_ would sense his presence, and come for him first.

Terry had been ranting about _that fucking fairy_ , who’d been sabotaging his runs and freeing his hostages. Conquest eluded his grasp whenever they’d get close enough, and it was all because of _him_.

Pan.

The clanging of metal and his father’s angry shouts drew Mickey’s attention from his seclusion as he peered around the side of the barrels. Pure rage filled in the lines of Terry’s face as he and Pan crashed swords frantically. The setting sun sparking the glares on their dueling blades.

The younger man was dressed in leaves and vines, most of his flesh visible for all to see. With one arm tucked behind his back, he met Terry’s attacks effortlessly. He wasn’t breaking a sweat, wasn’t short of breath; Mickey almost wondered if he was just egging Terry on at that point.

The look on his face, though… it rivalled Terry’s in hatred and fire. It chilled Mickey to the bone. Never before had he feared for Terry’s safety, for in his eyes, his father was the fiercest pirate there ever was. No one dared mess with Terry Milkovich.

“You worthless piece of shit! You fucking twink!”

“Her name is _Tink_ , and I’ll have you not speak of her like that again!” Pan spat.

Terry charged forward, his blade narrowly missing Pan’s side thanks to the deft footwork and spinning twirl of the boy’s body, getting lodged into the wood of the ships wall instead.

Pan landed on his feet and, in one sweeping motion, sliced his blade down through Terry’s wrist, as if carving through softened butter. The howl swept through the air, striking Mickey to the core. His heart pounded heavily in his chest, his lungs seizing, leaving him gasping for air.

He watched in horror as Pan calmly removed the severed hand from the swords handle, gently unwrapping each finger one at a time. Pan then leaped up onto the railing of the ships wall, and peered around, searching for something in the waters.

When a large mass of dark green and brown rose to the surface, Pan glided down to meet it. He stroked its back lovingly, encouraging its monstrous head to emerge. The crocodile tilted its head back and opened its jaw, its never ending rows of sharp teeth baring themselves to the world, and Pan tossed Terry’s hand up into the air, allowing the croc to leap up to catch it, swallowing it instantly as it dove deep into the ocean from which it emerged.

Mickey shivered violently from the sight, his fathers tormented screams whipping around him with the wind. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Pan, standing there, hovering above the water, watching the spot where the croc had just been. Just when he thought the panic coursing through his veins couldn’t become any icier, Pan whipped his head over his shoulder, looking Mickey directly in the eyes.

            *

         *

Mickey shot up in his bed, sitting in soaked sheets that clung to his shirt. It had been awhile since he’d been haunted by this recurring nightmare, and it always left him feeling exhausted and sore.

It had been more than ten years since he saw Pan last; since his father’s mind had snapped completely, leaving them with a madman in charge of the rig; since he’d begun beating his children regularly to compensate for the emasculating humiliation of losing a battle _and his hand_ to a foe like Pan; since he’d earned the moniker befitting of his new appendage.

The image in his mind never faded, though. The brutal reality of the unforeseen moment, the innocent way in which he had dissected his father in front of him and fed him to a reptile that was as cold-blooded as he was… the way he looked a tiny, terrified Mickey in the eye before Mickey ducked back down behind the wall, snuggling into the crevices between the barrels with his eyes squeezed shut, hugging himself tightly until his sister pulled him out the next morning.

There weren’t many things that unsettled Mickey… but the man that looked back at him was darker than anyone else he had met in his seventeen years. And he’d seen a lot of things.

The cool breeze on his heated skin drew his attention to the open window on his right. He stared at it, convincing himself that he’d left it open before passing out, just this once. He had to have.

The night sky peered back at him, and he found himself too drowsy to move to close it. Tossing and turning had excised him of all of his energy. Taking deep breaths to calm his still-rapid heartbeat, he let the sounds of ocean waves and soft golden bells lull him back to sleep.

            *

         *

He awoke earlier than usual that morning, dressed and ready by the time Smee had met him at his chamber doors. The older man’s bright smile didn’t flounder, even as Mickey reached forward and smacked the wig out of his hand.

One might assume that his crew would be leery of him after the events of yesterday, but they were nothing if not unshakeable. Sure enough, on cue, “CAPTAIN HOOK! CAPTAIN HOOK!” the crowd cheered.

“That’s not even—I HAVE BOTH OF MY HANDS!” The victorious roar of support from the crowd only served to annoy him further.

He marched down the stairs and headed to the fore-castle to inspect the progress of the mast and sails. “How much longer ‘til we’re ready to set sail?” he asked one of the men offhandedly as he passed by. “Shouldn’t be much longer, Hook.”

Mickey paused, turning his heels and rotating on the spot. “The fuck did you just call me?”

He dropped the rope he’d been unbundling and stood straight with his hands at his sides. “I meant…uh… Sir?”

“Why do you douchebags keep calling me Hook? That’s not my fucking name. It’s not even my dad’s real name. You fucking know that.” The man lowered his head in respect as he promised, “Aye, Captain.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand, gesturing at the crew to continue working. He meandered over to the wall, bracing himself with his arms, leaning into the sight of the island starboard of the ship.

The Island of Lost Boys seemed still, no movement, so sounds emanating forth. It was as if the entire place had been deserted. Mickey allowed himself the thought that maybe he was gone, maybe enough time had passed by that he was no longer haunting the sea from its base.

“Didn’t think we’d ever come back ‘ere, ay Captain Hook?” He squeezed his eyes shut as several stragglers approached behind him. “Nothing scares our Captain, does it Captain?” This prompted them to start in a new round of “Captain Hook! Captain Hook!” and cheering, accompanied by eager claps to his back and shoulders.

Mickey’s fingers dug into the wooden rails as he ignored them to the best of his ability.

“Didn’t the old Captain Hook say never ta come back ‘ere?”

“Tha’s just because he was afraid’a losin’ his other hand!” A roar of laughter followed.

“Nah, it was cause of the ol’ croc. That croc ain’t been seen since the old Captain ran away, innit Captain? Think it went off with him?”

“They said it was the fairy boy that drove him mad, but I say it was the croc. Never stopped followin’ us, did it? Made the old Cap’n lose his marbles!”

“Tha’s why we’ll never see old Hook again; ran away from it and now we got nothin’ but good fortune!”

With his back still turned to them, Mickey spat, “Good fortune, huh?” He chuckled. “Okay… “ He turned around to face his men. “Then why are we anchored waiting for a sail that was in perfect fucking condition a day ago? Hmm?” He looked at the collection of guilty, awkward expressions. “Why aren’t we headed up the ass of the Gold Fleet right now, swimming in fucking loot? That booty should’ve been ours!”

They stifled their laughter for all of two seconds before bellowing loudly, some pointing at their Captain and holding their sides.

He pressed his lips together in a firm line and flared his nostrils, head tilted down in quiet fury. “Go fuck yourselves.” He stomped towards the mast, only to be met with a firm hand to his bicep, “Captain, I jus’ bet this ‘ere bottle of rum that the ol’ Captain Hook is off gettin’ his other hand bitten off!”

Mickey knocked him out cold with one punch and screamed, “He's on a fucking run!”

He made his way to the back of the poop deck to be alone, and if any of these pricks had anything to say about that, they were smart enough to keep it to themselves.

            *

         *

The poop deck, at the very rear of the ship (shut up) was obscured from the sight of the rest of the ship by the sides of the wall dividing it from the quarter deck. Mainly used as a lookout point to watch for approaching ships, the area remained generally empty, and was scarcely used.

He reached the nest of crates and blankets Iggy usually occupied when he wasn’t straddling the bowsprit, blowing smoke into the skull figure head at the opposite end of the ship, and banished anyone who happened to be lingering nearby. If he couldn’t sleep in peace in his bed, he’d sleep under the warmth of the sun.

He had drifted off quickly, and it was shortly past noon when someone’s shadow flittered over his closed eyelids. “Who the fuck-“ he lifted his arms to brace himself for a fistfight, but immediately halted when he looked around and saw no one. “Fuckin’ assholes.”

Fluffing the blanket he was using as a pillow, Mickey laid his head back down and closed his eyes, only to sense the presence of someone lurking nearby. Eyebrows furrowed, he turned his head to the side slowly, seeing nothing but open skies and the rear railing in front of him. He stood up slowly, ready to toss any motherfucker overboard who dared interfere with his sleep.

He looked over his left shoulder, then turned slowly to his right. The shadow on the ground next to his gave the intruder away, but when he whipped around to catch him, there was no one to be found. The entire deck was empty.

His breath quickened, his fatigue quickly dissolving into anxious defensiveness. “Gonna rip the tongue right outta your head, bitch, if you even think about tryna get the drop on me.”

“That’d be a shame; I’ve been told my tongue can do some pretty amazing things.”

He spun around to find himself face to face with the man whose very voice caused Mickey’s heart to stop beating. At least, it sure fucking felt like it.

Pan stood tall and proud with his hands on his hips and grinned mischievously.

Technically, he was identical to the version of himself in Mickey’s nightmares; exactly the same as he remembered him. Same height, same coppery red hair, same build… the muscles on his chest barely covered by the leafy collection he seemed to pass off as clothing.

There was something off about him, something that had Mickey’s nerves on edge. His face was bright, like rays of sunshine radiated from where he stood. His features were far softer, as if his years of savagery hadn’t affected him in the least.

“Wow…” Pan breathed. “You’re gorgeous.”

Mickey’s trembling fingers slowly advanced towards his hip, finding the holster empty, silently cursing himself for leaving his gun in his room. Fingertips itching to wrap around the handle of his sword, they crept in the other direction, never once breaking eye contact. Pan smiled and shook his head in disbelief. “Really?”

Mickey froze, unwilling to prompt the man in front of him to make any sudden moves. His eyes scanned the tall redhead, taking in his smooth pale skin, the curves of his muscles, the light dusting of freckles that made him look younger than his broad shoulders and devious expression implied.

“Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?” Pan smirked, leaning towards the rigid, wide-eyed brunet, subtly inhaling at his neck. “Does this mean you’ve ripped the tongue out of your _own_ head?”

Mickey snarled, and gripped the handle of his sword, stepping backwards to unsheathe it fully. Pan drew a blade of his own, a needled cutlass no longer than his forearm.

Mickey’s sword was easily twice the width, and his fast hands angled it forward and had it tip to tip with Pan’s in a flash.

“A dance, is it? I haven’t danced with a partner in ages, Captain!”

Mickey dropped his heads to glare up, and bared his teeth. “You here to kill me? You here to take my hand, too, you piece of shit?”

“Take your hand? So early into our courtship? No, no, certainly not…it’s too soon for that, I’m afraid. I will take a hug, though.” The awkward confusion hung in the air as Mickey’s eyebrows furrowed deeper into his forehead. Pan lamented “I’m just SO out of practice; my hugs must be awful!”

Mickey leaned backwards into his stance, and took a deep breath. Just as he was about to lunge forward, Pan kicked the butt of Mickey’s sword handle, sending it flying upwards into the air.

As Mickey looked up to catch it, Pan wrapped his cutlass-wielding arm around his waist, and shot his other hand in the air to catch it just as it almost touched Mickey’s fingertips.

He looked Mickey in the eyes and flirted, “Just kidding. I give really great hugs.”

“WHAT the FUCK?!?” Mickey scrambled out of his hold. “GIVE ME—give me my fucking sword.” He looked around frantically. If any of his men saw him disarmed by the very man he hated and feared, he’d be done for.

“My reach just happened to be longer, is all. I can’t help it if I’m taller than you” the redhead said smugly.

“And I can’t help it if your freakishly long arms help you to steal shit that doesn’t belong to you”. He held out his hand impatiently, staring Pan down with his fuming death glare.

“’Steal shit that doesn’t belong to you’, huh?” He chuckled and crossed his arms, blades sticking out past both elbows. “That’s funny, coming from a pirate.”

Mickey hurled towards his sword, and Pan flung it over the edge of the ship, tossed into the churning waters below. “Oops!” He raised a hand to his mouth, feigning innocence.

Mickey’s nostrils flared. “What do you want from me? Huh? You wanna kill me? Take my ship? The fuck do you want?!”

His words floated right over Pan, who leaned forward to watch Mickey’s sword float away. He propped one foot up onto the railing, supporting his body as he leaned further into the view, arching his back and shielding his eyes from the sun with one large hand. Mickey saw this as his chance to push Pan over, all he’d have to do is grab him by his lower back and… His eyes focused in on his lower region, which seemed to be pushing itself backwards in small increments.

Pan uttered softly, “Look at that thing go… I guess it’s kinda like a _swordfish_ now, right Captain?”

Mickey licked his lips as Pan swiveled his hips ever so slightly, pushing them backwards even further. Mickey started to wonder how far Pan would have to push his ass out until the leafy outfit no longer covered the toned cheeks peeking out from beneath.

“They say the swordfish has few predators in the wild, except for the elusive penfish… which is said to be even mightier.” Pan turned around, leaning said cheeks into the railing now, propping another foot up impossibly high to rest next to him. It was as if he were trying to display his crotch to the entire world.

The joke went right over Mickey’s head as he was utterly entranced by the oversized bulge behind the garment.

“Do you like my pirate stance? I suppose mine is a little more… flexible.” While Mickey could appreciate the bold, victorious stance as similar to the previous pirate captains of legend, flexible barely begun to describe what was happening here. His ankle was at the same height as his hip, both hands balled into fists at his sides, elbows bent, chin tilted up with pride. It’s as if he were boasting.

Licking his lips, Mickey looked over his shoulder to check for any approaching crew members, and returned his gaze.

“Hey Gorgeous, do you think I could get my foot over my head? I think I’m flexible enough to get my foot behind my head. Think you can come hold me tight while I attempt this?” His tongue peeked out of the side of his mouth as he gripped his foot with both hands and begun his attempt.

Mickey squeezed his eyes shut tight and shook his head free of the pull this man had over his thoughts. “Ay, listen here you son of a bitch, you call me Mickey—no, fuck-- YOU CALL ME CAPTAIN. You call me Captain, you got that?” His voice trembled as he forced it out of his throat, caught between the dueling sensations of fear and arousal.

The redhead smirked. “Sure thing, Mick… and you can call me Ian.”

“Who the fuck is Ian?”

“Me. That’s my name.”

Feeling baffled and mildly insulted, Mickey sputtered, “I thought- they said- I thought your name was Peter?” Ian shuddered. “Doesn’t feel right.” He frowned for a moment, then his face morphed into something unreadable. He took a step towards the brunet. “You know what does feel right, though, Mick?” he asked softly.

His face flushed as he studied the face of the man slowly approaching him. His eyebrows were raised but his eyelids were half shut, the green eyes beneath them beginning to brighten. Confidence emanated from his smile, and Mickey felt a lump in his throat. His heart fluttered painfully in his chest.

Ian reached out a hand to touch him, and Mickey backed away quickly. Ian took another step forward, and was met with a hard shove to the chest. “I know who you are, Pan. Don’t try and… trick me… this is my ship.” He breathed heavily, leaning over to brace his hands on his knees. “I know you’re trying to lure me… you’re a fucking monster!” He paused as Ian’s face fell, his eyes never leaving Mickey’s.

“You’re using your evil magic on me, and you’re- fuck…” His eyes were filled with panic as he began panting, “You’re here to kill me. I knew this was coming, I fucking knew it! I always knew!”

Ian leaned in slowly and spoke in a hushed tone, “Mickey, I need you to take a deep breath, okay?” As Mickey struggled to catch his breath, he noticed Ian’s eyes starting to sparkle, as if they were glowing from within. Entranced by the sight, he lost his footing, and Ian reached out a protective hand to keep him from falling.

Mickey slid to the floor, giving in to defeat, to the unknown fate that lie before him. There was nothing he could do but let the blackness tunneling his vision take over him.

Ian wrapped his arm around his shoulder and gave a quick squeeze. “You’re okay, Mick. I’ve got you. Just breathe.” He braced his over hand against Mickey’s sternum, helping him to stay seated upright.

Mickey took shallow breaths as he looked up into the hypnotic gaze, letting his head fall back onto Ian’s arm. Ian cradled him close, whispering softly, “It’s just a panic attack, Mick. You’re going to be okay. I just need you to take a deep breath for me.” He forced himself to breathe deep, holding it in his lungs, and exhaling slowly. He repeated this several times, staring in wonder at the man wrapping him close in his embrace.

As the waves of fog started to clear from his mind and his breathing steadied, it became increasingly clear that Ian posed no immediate threat. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he leaned forward to stand. Ian leaped to his feet and braced Mickey’s arm, using the arm around Mickey’s back to grip his side, ushering him to a solid stance.

“Feeling better, Mickey?” The smile was back in place, and he looked on happily despite Mickey’s internal discomfort.“ Unwilling to make eye contact, Mickey stepped away and looked around to ensure their privacy, and then focused his gaze on the lapping waves. “Listen, I know who you are, alright? Just… fucking tell me why you’re here, you know? What you’re doing on my ship.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Talking to me like we’re friends or whatever.”

“What kind of neighbor would I be if I didn’t greet every ship that stopped in to say hello?” Mickey smiled despite himself, “Okay, smartass. What do you want with _me_ , then?”

“Well, you are the Captain of this ship. Shouldn’t you be the first person I talk to? That is proper protocol, right? I’m nothing if not a complete gentleman…” He punctuated this statement by drawing his eyes up and down Mickey’s body, taking in the spectacular view.

Mickey chuckled to himself. This couldn’t have been the man his father feared for so long. He just couldn’t be.

“Listen, if we’re gonna stand around chatting, then I gotta ask you something. How do you, uh… you know…”

“Fly?” Ian dipped his head to catch Mickey’s eye, cheeks stretching into a wide smile, strands of red hair falling over his face. “Would you like me to teach you how to fly?”

That would certainly be a sight. The Captain of the Jolly Roger, flying loops around his drunken, floundering crew like some sort of fairy. If only Terry could see that, he’d drop dead on the spot. “Nah, it ain’t like that. I was just wondering how you managed it. Is it something you do on purpose? Were you born like” he eyed Ian up and down, “…this?”

Ian considered his answer, and then took a step forward. Mickey willed himself not to move, to hold his ground. “Can I show you something, Mick?” He stepped closer, still gazing deeply into Mickey’s eyes. The dark haired man felt powerless to stop him.

Ian closed the distance between them and reached out a hand to Mickey’s hip. Carefully watching his reaction, he wrapped the other arm under Mickey’s in a half hug. Mickey felt his arms winding their way around Ian’s neck, completely of their own volition. Ian smiled warmly, and led them subtly into a very slow dance.

And lead he did. Mickey found himself swaying ever so slightly to the sounds of the sea, and to bells that seemed to play only in his mind. His thumbs caressed the smooth skin, gliding over solid muscles and staring into the most mesmerizing eyes he had ever encountered.

Mickey felt a warm sensation in his chest, blossoming outward, electrifying his senses. He smiled brightly, feeling like he was brand new.

Ian grinned and looked at Mickey’s lips when he spoke, “What do you think so far?”

“Hmmmm?” Mickey murmured. He let the liquid sunshine flow through his limbs, his hands, his fingertips.

Ian hugged Mickey tightly, and suggested, “I’d say you’re adjusting to flying pretty quickly…” He looked down at their feet, and Mickey’s eyes followed in his direction. They were now hovering a few feet above the floor.

“Holy shit!” Mickey exclaimed in awe. “I didn’t even feel it! It’s like I’m a feather or something. How are you doing this?”

“We’re doing this.” He caressed Mickey’s cheek, causing the man to blush. “And you could do it on your own, if you wanted to.”

When Mickey grinned in return, Ian let his hand trail from his hip to his chest, caressing every ab muscle along the way. “You’re so beautiful like this, Mick. When you smile. Your eyes are so blue; I can’t stop staring into them.”

Mickey hummed softly. “You really think I could do this on my own? Float like this? Fly, even?”

Ian nuzzled his face into Mickey’s neck. “Of course you can. You can do anything, Mickey, I know it.” He pulled back, and cupped Mickey’s face in his hands. “I can see it in you. You have so much lightness. There’s so much good in you.”

He tilted his head to press his cheek into Ian’s hand, to hide his embarrassment. “Nah, I’m not that great. Not yet. I’ve got so much catching up to do, with my dad.” He felt Ian stiffen under his hold. “He’s conquered so many ships, and brought in so much gold… he’s the most feared pirate alive, man. I’ve only just begun to fill his shoes.”

Ian pulled Mickey out of his trance, and tilted his face up to meet his eyes. “Mick, listen to me… you are nothing like him! You are kind, and gentle, and compassionate. You have a warm heart, and a spirit for adventure. I can see it! He’s a monster. He’s a killer! He’s nothing like you! He could never be anything like you!” Ian’s eyes darted frantically between Mickey’s, desperately searching for acknowledgement.

Mickey felt something dark pooling in his gut. “Wait… wait… how do you…” He stared at Ian, watching his eyes widen in recognition. “How do you know who my dad is?” The trepidation on his face told Mickey everything.

He pressed his hands onto Ian’s chest, slowly pushing himself out of the redhead’s grip. He felt himself lower to the ground, his feet finding the deck below him. “Ian, how do you know who my dad is?”

Ian’s mouth opened and closed a few times, unable to produce anything more than stunned stuttering.

Mickey stood still for a moment, trying to process his racing thoughts. “How do you know who I am, Ian?”

Ian tittered, “I mean, this rig is pretty recognizable, Mick. No one else has a gigantic skull protruding from the front of their-“

“I could’ve been anyone.” Mickey shook his head and said with more bite, “Any asshole could’ve walked onto this ship and taken over the role of bosun while my dad is gone. That was—that was fucking years ago, he could’ve died since then. He could’ve fucked off ages ago. How did you know who I am, that Terry is my dad?” He shoved Ian for good measure. “Huh? How the fuck did you know that?”

Ian’s face registered his guilt. “I’d recognize you anywhere, Mick. You look exactly the same as you did so long ago. You have the same blue eyes you did when you were little, just…” He looked up shyly, “You’re all grown up, now.” He had the decency to look ashamed as he continued, “I remember seeing you, behind the wall, watching me.” His eyes dropped to the floor as his voice faltered. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

No. No no no no no. This wasn’t happening. “So, so you’re saying you saw me that night, and you knew it was me, THIS WHOLE FUCKING TIME, and now you’re just, what, here to sweep me off my feet? Like nothing ever happened? Huh? You gonna have your way with me? Do I not get a say in that either?”

“Mickey—“ He reached out for Mickey’s hand, only to have it pulled away in disgust.

None of this was real. This was all in Mickey’s head. “But it’s cool, though, right? Because we’re best fucking friends now, so why not put me under your spell and do whatever the fuck you want with me, right?” His tight throat was constricting his words, so he rushed his words. “Why are you here? Why are you pretending you care about me?” His voice broke at the end.

“I wanted to see you. I wanted to see” he looked over his shoulder, like he was peering through the wall to the quarter deck, “…how things were, now.” He was still for a moment, then turned back to Mickey frantically, “I’m not tricking you, Mickey, I swear! None of this is pretend. You and me, us, this is real. I feel connected to you. I can feel your spirit.” His chest was heaving with emotion. “Okay, I admit it. I’ve been watching you since you got here. I just wanted to know how much things have changed, and I saw you, and I can’t look away. Your spirit is so strong, you’re like a magnet, pulling me in. The colors of your aura are so—“

“Oh my god. Oh my god, Ian, you’re crazy.” Mickey scrubbed his face with frustrated hands. “Do you not get that you changed my entire life for the worse? You had this thing, with Terry, where you swooped in to be the hero, right? Was that it? Stop us from pirating, from making a living? What did you think would happen after you chopped his fucking hand off? Did you think the rest of us would live happily ever after, like all our problems were solved?”

Ian said nothing, just stood there staring back, pleading silently with his eyes.

Mickey walked up to him, closing in until he was inches from Ian’s face. “I want you to leave. I want you to go. Don’t ever come back. Don’t worry about what I do, and don’t ever try to interfere with my life again. It’s none of your fucking business.” He stared Ian down, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. Fighting back every urge to hold Ian close and demand that he take back all of it, to tell him he was wrong and that everything was going to be okay.

He pressed his palms into his eyes and scrubbed the tears away. When he looked back up, Ian was gone.

            *

         *

It had been three days since the repairs on the sails were complete, and they’d resumed their voyage north. Mickey sat at the ornate, gold-rimmed desk in his master suite, in the middle of formulating his strategy for the partnering and expansion with the fleets of other notorious pirates.

“But this ain’t gonna be like the Gold Fleet, Smee. We can’t just walk up, thieve, and bail. These are masterminds. We gotta lure them into joining us. Make them want it. Make them think it was their idea, you know?”

Smee looked over the assortment of wooden replica ships on Mickey’s desk. “Well Cap’n, I heard tha’ Black Bart Roberts like ta punish his enemies by making them run in circles for ten minutes while tha men stick forks and knives into their bums.”

Mickey stared blankly at his first mate. “And why the fuck are you telling me this? Why would I want to know about that shit? What he does on his ships are his business.” He nudged his nose with his knuckle. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Dad is securing that partnership right now, if he hasn’t already.”

Smee nodded empathically. “Of course, Cap’n! If ya want, we can join with Francois l'Olonnais. He’s a bit of a dangerous man, good and true.”

“We’re all dangerous men, here, Smee” the brunet droled, utterly bored of the conversation. “The fuck has he done to make him that impressive?”

“They say tha’ when he couldn’t get the Spaniards to give him tha information he wanted, he cut the heart outta one of ‘em, an ate it. Ate it right in front of the rest of ‘em! Told ‘em he’d do the same to tha rest, unless they got him to safety.”

Mickey’s eyebrows quirked up. “Shit, that’ll work. We’ll figure out a plan for bringing him into the fold soon, after this whole Gold Fleet business is done.”

He sighed heavily. “Ay, Smee, can you go fuck off for a while?” Smee tilted his head to the side, and snapped his fingers. “Sure thing, Cap’n! I know just what you need!” and bumbled out of the room.

Mickey leaned back into his large red velvet chair, feeling fatigue set over him. He’d never felt such a lack of energy enthusiasm the night before a raid, before. He looked towards his window, purposely left open, and let himself drift away into his thoughts.

He flinched at the loud knocking at the door. “You were just in here, Smee. What now?” He glanced at the door as it opened, as a curly haired blonde stepped into the room. Her loud makeup was rivalled by her attention-demanding cleavage. “Have you got a free minute, Captain? Smee said you were unoccupied” she purred.

“Smee’s a goddamn idiot, is what he is.” Mickey looked back down at his desk, trying to ignore the fact that she hadn’t left yet, hoping she’d get the point.

“Is there anything I can… do for you?” she asked suggestively. Mickey furrowed his eyebrows and retorted, “Depends, how good are you at closing the fucking door behind you?”

She giggled, stepped in, and closed the door, quickly making her way over to Mickey. He realized too late his error in phrasing, and scrubbed a frustrated hand over his face. “Fuuuuuck” he sighed in frustration. “Look, I want you on the OTHER side of the door. The side that’s OUT THERE. Got it?”

“But the sun will be setting soon, and the night can be so cold”, she flirted, glancing up at the window Mickey had purposely left open since they’d resumed sail. “Let me close that for you…”

“DON’T”, he cried, grabbing her wrist as she headed towards the sill. “Just… leave it open. I want it open, okay?” She shrugged, unaffected, and stood with her hand on her hip looking at Mickey expectantly.

“Okay, jesus, I’ll walk you out and you can go find someone else to keep you warm, alright? Or, I don’t know, run some fucking laps, or something. Set the ship on fire, I don’t give a shit. Just get the fuck out of my room.”

Not two minutes after she left, the door swung open with a bang. Mickey rubbed his temples impatiently, and warned, “Do you people have a goddamn death wish?”

Smee stood breathless from running up the flight of stairs to Mickey’s chambers. "Cap'n, you gotta come see this!" His eyes were wide and his expression was serious. In all of his 17 years, Mickey can only count on one hand the number of times he’s seen this look on Smee.

He raced down the stairs to the main deck where crowd was gathered. They were all looking up at the sail, the newly patched sail, billowing out into the sky with the force of the wind.

They were transfixed with something behind the sail, and Mickey looked up to find the source of the commotion.

The faint outline of a shadow appeared in the middle of the billowing sail, growing more visible as it inched forward.

No...

The needled blade of a cutlass pierced through the freshly mended sheet, then dragged downward with increasing speed, until the bulk of the sail was split in two.

As the cutlass hit the horizontal pole, the blade disappeared, replaced by the upside down form of Ian, swinging by his legs like a child on a tree branch.

"Hey, Captain. Miss me?" His upside down smirk was blatantly playful.

Mickey stared at the tattered sail forlornly. Days of effort, gone.

"What did you do?!? We just had that fixed!" Ian shrugged nonchalantly.

“Why would you do that? How the fuck are we supposed to maintain speed, now? We had plans!”

"Oh, you mean robbing the Golden Fleet? Yeah, I already made sure they were aware of your plans, and they rerouted a couple of days ago. They're long gone, Mick."

Mickey stared agape at the man, disappointment racking him to the core. It was his first big mission, and he had failed.

Ian flipped down, landing effortlessly on his feet. Murmurs wafted from the crowd, excited whispers, but no one made any sort of advancements towards Ian. They all watched him, fascinated, like watching a myth come to life.

“I have a joke for you, Captain.” Ian smiled like he hadn’t just stolen Mickey’s first major opportunity as Captain away from him. “Why is it that I am always flying about?” He looked around at the crowd, leaving the men in suspense. “It’s because I Neverland!” He laughed good naturedly at his own punchline, and continued, “I love that joke, because it never gets old.” He winked at Mickey, while the crew looked at each other in confusion.

“You’re not serious.”

“I try to be not serious as often as possible, Mick.” Mickey flinched at the familiarity. “You didn’t send the Gold Fleet away. That’s our easy catch. We were going to use that gold to open talks with—“

“You know, Mick, someone once told me that ‘stealing shit that doesn’t belong to you’ is a pretty undesirable trait. Maybe you should find a new line of work?”

“You’re really pressing your fucking luck showing up here, you know that?” Ian chuckled, “Well, I’m not sure I’ll need luck, seeing as how I’m so good at everything.” He flew up and over their heads, landing so close to Mickey that he could reach out and touch him. Mickey stood still, not letting a single emotion display across his face. Not in front of his men.

Ian’s smile faltered slightly as he leaned forward to utter hushed words for Mickey alone to hear, “I missed you. I’m sorry about before. Can we talk, in private?”

Mickey laughed incredulously. “Can we…talk in private?” He shook his head. “You made a big mistake, man.” He drew his sword and prepared his stance, “You cut into our game. That was OUR fucking loot. Now, you die, asshole.” Ian gave him his most unimpressed look. “Is that so?” He drew his cutlass and steadied himself. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Captain.” He smirked, egging Mickey on.

Mickey knew he’d be no match as a swordfighter, and couldn’t afford to lose face in front of his crew. So he lunged forward, chasing Ian backwards off of the main deck and onto the staircase that led to the quarter deck. Knowing everyone was gathered behind him, he growled, “I told you not to come back! Why are you doing this to me? You’re forcing this on me!” He clanged his sword against Ian’s for show. “You think I want to hurt you, you selfish prick? I can’t just let you ruin everything and leave. I’m the one in charge of this goddamn rig!” He thrust his sword towards Ian’s chest, knowing he’d dodge it easily.

“I didn’t really think of it like that, Mickey… I just wanted to see you.”

Mickey dropped his stance for a moment, and guffawed nervously. “You’re going to make me lose my fucking mind, Ian. You know that?” He sliced his sword diagonally in Ian’s direction. “But then, that’s what you do, isn’t it? You show up” –thrust- “You ruin our runs and take our jobs off the table” –slice- “You fight” –thrust- “And then you fucking leave, right? That’s what you do? You make my life miserable, and then you’re gone?”

Ian straightened, and lowered his cutlass to his side. “That’s not fair, Mick, and you know it. No one forced you to be a pirate.”

“TERRY FUCKING FORCED ME, Ian, don’t you get it?” He swung aggressively, throwing Ian off-kilter. “I never had any choices, ever! Not once!” He kicked Ian square in the chest, leaving him to stumble backwards onto the foot of the staircase.

"Do you know what it's like to be 8 years old and have your entire body dangling over the side of the boat by his one fist because you didn't get his rum to him fast enough and now he wants whiskey?"

Ian tripped backwards a few times, crawling frantically up the staircase behind him. "Mickey-"

"I didn't even have to DO anything! He'd beat me awake, beat me for standing too close to him. Beat me because I couldn't run and hide as fast as Iggy could." He was panting as they reached the top of the staircase, and moved to the deck.

Ian was on his feet with his dagger drawn, standing in defense mode. "Mickey, I didn't do those things to you! Your father is the monster, not me!"

"He made us hurt people, Pan. Me and Iggy. We were too fucking small to wield a sword, so he'd give us guns and make us practice on crew members that weren't working fast enough."

Blade hit blade as Ian regained his momentum, keeping Mickey's attacks at bay. "I'm sorry, Mickey! I should've come back! I should've stopped him!"

“Why couldn’t you have just finished it, huh? Why didn’t you just kill him? Why’d you have to leave him for us? Why did you make things worse?”

"Mickey, stop!" He looked over his shoulder to see Mandy climbing the top of the staircase, running towards him. "Stop, Mickey, please!" Tears were streaming down her face. He had never witnessed his sister cry before. "Please!"

She flung herself against his back, wrapping her arms around his chest. "Don't hurt him."

"...Mandy?" She squeezed him tightly, Steeling herself against the sobs threatening to rack her lungs.

"He used to hurt me, when I was too young to stop him, too afraid to tell anyone" she whispered. "No one ever knew..." Mickey turned around to search her face. "What do you mean?"

"One night, he saw him... Ian saw him. He came through my window, and said that if Terry ever laid a hand on me again, he'd chop it off and feed it to his crocodile." She looked over Mickey's shoulder at her long lost hero. "He kept his promise."

Mickey couldn't feel his face, the numb feeling sweeping across him. "Why didn't you tell me? I would've stopped him!"

"I should've come back for you Mickey." Ian's face was red, tears filling his eyes. "I didn't know he was hurting you. I'm so sorry."

Mickey's childhood memories flashed before his eyes. He'd never once seen his father hit Mandy. Now he knew why. The fear that drove Terry mad was the fear that kept his sister safe.

"I abandoned you." The tears were starting to overflow, and Mickey held up his hand to stop him from continuing. “Ian-“

“I can’t believe it’s really you.” Mandy stared over Mickey’s shoulder at the man who’d rescued her all those years ago, still clutching tightly to her brother, trembling. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

Ian’s breath hitched, and his red rimmed eyes moved to the face on Mickey’s shoulder. “Mandy” he breathed. He started to smile again, a smile full of relief and joy, that made its way up to his eyes. The green shone brightly, just as the chants from the crowd below grew louder.

“Kill him!” “Kill the fairy!” “Don’t let him get away!” “Kill the bastard!” Waving their swords about, the air of drunken raucousness grew thicker.

Mickey took a slow, deep breath. He didn’t need to look Ian in the eye; he already knew the choice he would have to make.

He tilted his head back towards the sky, and closed his eyes.

This was his last moment as Captain. The last moment he had as the leader of his father’s rig, the only home he’d ever had.

Once he let Ian go, there would be mutiny, and he would have to move fast to get his siblings to safety.

That’s when he felt the slam to his ribcage and heard the prolonged groan that echoed loudly for all to hear.

His eyes flew open, and was met with Ian, hunched forward, leaning into his chest.

He looked down to see his sword wedged between Ian’s arm and the side of his ribcage.

He faced Ian with bewilderment. “Ian… Ian, what the fuck?”

Ian stumbled backwards, holding his side, bellowing loudly, stumbling about.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, you got me, Hook! You bested me!” Mickey’s eyes searched Ian frantically for any sign of injury, and found none. His eyes dropped to his sword, which remained clean, not a single drop of blood in sight.

“You’ve really got my number this time, Captain!” He raised the back of his hand dramatically to his forehead, wailing for every man on the ship to hear. Mickey’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as it slowly dawned on him what it was that Ian had done.

Mandy’s relieved sob behind him confirmed it: Tucking the aloft blade between his arm and his side gave enough of an illusion of defeat as to trick his men into accepting his impending death, relieving Mickey of his sacrifice.

He was almost backed up to the wall of the ship, still bellowing, “Ohhhhh, I’m a goner for sure!” With that, he turned to face the wall, hopped up with a little _too_ much pep, and stood with perfect balance along the rim. He spun around with flair, facing the captive audience.

“Goodbye, cruel world!” He drew stiff and upright, and let his body tilt backwards, falling off of the rail until he was completely out of sight. Mickey ran to the ledge and gripped it tight, keeping himself from falling over with the force of his arrival.

Ian floated casually on his back, arms folded up behind his head. He wiggled his eyebrows at Mickey, stuck his tongue out, and flew away before Mickey could register what was happening.

“Did he drown?”

“The captain got him!”

“Did he flee, captain!”

“He learned his lesson this time!”

Mickey stared on in astonishment as the sun set, enveloping the ship into darkness.

            *

         *

Mickey skipped dinner that night, preferring the solitude of his room. He leaned against the sill of his open window, staring out across the vast length of the sea. They were far from the Island of Lost Boys, but Mickey had an inkling that, if he stared long enough, he would find it.

He wondered what it would have been like to grow up as a Lost Boy, with no rules, no responsibilities, and no parents. To be able to choose what you did with every day, where you went, and who you spent your time with.

He thought about Ian. He pictured Ian coming back for him, teaching him to fly, taking him away from all of this.

It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about leaving the ship, about abandoning his post and disappearing into a new life. He knew that Iggy would never take over leadership, and that Mandy would never be allowed. Terry would never hear of such an idea as a girl taking over his ship, not even if that girl was his own daughter. He’d sooner kill her than let her lead.

But that would never happen, would it? It wasn’t just him looking out for her, he now knew. Ian had been there long ago, and had protected her long before Mickey ever knew she needed protecting.

He didn’t know how soon he’d see Ian again, but he convinced himself that he would see him again, someday, and refused to let himself think otherwise.

            *

         *

Mickey had struggled to fall asleep that night, overwhelmed with loneliness and, what he hesitated to dwell on, regret. He hugged a pillow tightly to his chest, and lie still with his eyes squeezed shut, hoping the cool breeze would help him drift into slumber.

After a long while, Mickey felt goosebumps splay across his skin. He opened his eyes to the most beautiful shade of green he’d ever witnessed. Green eyes that shone brightly in Mickey’s dark room.

Ian hovered over Mickey’s covered form, not moving or speaking, just looking on with sadness and uncertainty. It was if he were trying to speak to Mickey using only his thoughts and emotions.

Mickey reached forward slowly, moving his hand upwards until it pressed into Ian’s chest, holding him where he was. He looked into Ian’s eyes, trying as hard as he could to convey to Ian everything he’d been holding inside. He wanted to share everything with Ian, to confide in him with complete trust. Ian stared on, looking unsure and waiting for guidance.

Mickey’s fingers grasped Ian’s leaf sarong and pulled him roughly on top of him, kissing him lovingly, holding him firmly. Ian gasped a sigh of relief against Mickey’s lips, and held his face gently in his hands. He pulled back momentarily, to murmur apologies and regrets into Mickey’s ear. Mickey kissed Ian’s neck, and whispered gratitude in return.

They held each other tight, kissing and rolling around on top of Mickey’s bed, until they were unable to restrain themselves any longer. Undressing themselves as quickly as they could, they immediately fell back into each other’s arms, caressing and stroking. Ian pressed a dry finger so close to where Mickey wanted it, encouraging him open and relaxed without needing to use any manual penetration.

When Ian lined himself up and slid inside with ease, Mickey’s troubles melted away in an instant, leaving nothing but bliss and ecstasy, passion and desire. Rolling became thrusting, playful challenges turned into wordless promises.

It wasn’t until hours later that they finally collapsed onto the mattress, hands linked together, struggling to catch their breaths.

Ian pulled Mickey towards him, and Mickey rests his head upon Ian’s chest. "I want to show you, Mick. What it’s like to be free."

Mickey tilts his head up to look his lover in the eye. “Will you teach me?”

“Teach you how to fly? Of course I will.” He presses a kiss to Mickey’s forehead.

“Everything. I want to learn how to do everything. I want to live a life like yours.” He stared longingly, blue into green.

“But… you can’t come with me?” Ian hugged him tighter.

Mickey shook his head sadly. “Not as long as there’s a chance Terry could come back for them. They need me.” He sighed into Ian’s chest. “I wish you could stay.” Mickey squeezed him arm around Ian’s side, pulling him closer.

“I can’t, Mick.” He kissed the soft, pouty lips in front of him. He kissed them again. “I have an island full of little brothers to look after.”

Mickey understood. “When can I see you again?”

Ian smiled and beamed lovingly at his partner, his Captain. “Whenever you’d like, Mick. I’ll always be here for you. Just always be waiting for me.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I had intended for this to be a one-shot, but I have so many ideas as to where this could go, that I think I would like to eventually add more chapters to it. There are endless adventures to be had!
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> Also: Someone recently asked me what Ian's outfit looked like... for anyone wondering, picture season 4 Ian wearing this:
> 
>   
> ...except with fewer leaves. Ian Pan's leaves come in the form of booty shorts.


End file.
